


Crimes worth a kiss

by temarcia



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Boys Kissing, Drabble, Fluff and Angst, Funny, Hero/Villain, M/M, Sexual Content, Smut, riddlebat - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2020-10-04 00:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20461700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temarcia/pseuds/temarcia
Summary: "Kissing? That’s a highly unhygienic and, quite frankly, gross procedure, I’m too brilliant for such nonsense!"- The Riddler





	1. Go viral

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy my collection of riddlebat drabbles. This one was requested by esteicy-blog from tumblr.

“Ladies and gentleman! Citizens of Gotham! You poor, simpleminded cogs in the capitalistic machine that makes you waste your brain cells by going to your unstimulating day-to-day jobs, making twelve dollars per hour and feeling satisfied with it – I, The Riddler, present you with the show of your lifetime! Tonight, I will give you – The Batman!”

The crowd below, glittering with diamonds and puffing with fake feathers, went “Ohh!” like one, big, living organism. The Riddler in his best suit was looking down on the rich, all spotlights on him, feeling bigger than he already was – and he was the big winner.

He pressed a secret button hidden in his trade-mark cane and a solid, metal construct descended from above the stage, causing every eye in the hall to turn into that direction. His Riddler-drones surrounded the crate as it landed next to him with a heavy ‘thud’, their inbuilt cameras captured all the details of the almost seven feet tall box. The Gothamites could watch the life-transmission on all four walls of the Grand Hall, and more than that, since he, The Riddler, had thought of everything as always, the hijacked signal was also transmitted worldwide right now. What an exciting night!

Another click and the crate went ‘puff’ as the pneumatic lock gave away. The four metal walls opened, revealing the truth inside the box.

The crowd gasped.

Riddler smiled for the camera.

Yes, it was the Dark Knight in the flesh – or rather, in his kevlar armor – wrapped tightly with leather stripes and cuffed to an operating table. He looked like a birthday gift, ready to be unpacked – and tonight was the night that Riddler would finally do it. He would show those fools that he was the only one who had known all along who the Batman was.

“The Batman!” He announced.

The crowd was not cheering which made Edward angry.

“But before I take off his mask, I will give you a fair chance to guess his true identity. Since I, The Riddler, have solved this puzzle myself, I will give you a hint. Whoever is able to give the correct answer might walk out of here with a prize.” He paused to give the trapped and helpless Bat a long, victorious look. “What prize, you ask? Oh, nothing big – just your worthless lives!”

The automatic guns snapped out from the drones that were previously circling under the ceiling. It triggered quite a hysterical reaction down below but Batman stayed calm, his blue eyes gazed at Edward’s from behind the mask – the mask that soon would be irrelevant prompt.

“OK people! You know what to do. Listen to my riddle and write the answer on your invitation, then put it into a donation jar – I hope our flawed education system at least taught you how to write.”

Stepping forward, to the very edge of the scene, he made a dramatic gesture and the room fell silent.

“I hide behind the mask  
From the memories of the past  
I’m a rich boy, a boy wonder  
But my parents are six under  
I got women, I got fame  
And one tower wears my name  
Deep down I am just a brat  
Who likes dressing as a bat  
Who am I?”

When he finished, everybody stayed quiet. And then, suddenly there was a hum of hundreds of voices trying to frantically share their own ideas for the answer.

“No, no. No cheating,” Riddler wagged his finder playfully but the armed drones were no joke, and the crowd understood it.

Edward shot a triumphant look toward Batman and for the first time, he saw something more than coldness on this stoic face. Was the Dark Knight worried? Scared perhaps? Did he comprehend that he lost this battle of wits for good?

“Time’s up!” He declared. “Now, to the main event of tonight’s show!” He walked to the trap that held Batman upright and unable to move as much as his finger. “Let’s see if I were right, and the man behind the mask IS who I think he is. Oh, and I’m sure I AM correct here, right Batman?”

Leaning closer to his captive, Edward could basically feel the tension. The way Batman’s jaws were clenched, how his palms were curled into fists – all this was giving the answer away and Edward knew he really had won this time.

“And what if I tell you that you are right?”

Edward’s hand froze before his gloved fingers could touch the cowl. Batman was not supposed to say that!

“Do you want to admit your defeat?” He mocked, caught off-guard by this turn of events.

“Perhaps? Or perhaps, before you unmask me, I just want to congratulate you. The riddle is solved, you did it,” The Bat did not sound angry or intimidating. Edward had never heard him speak like that before. “You’re a really smart man, Edward,” Batman continued and Riddler couldn’t help but blush hard and swallow even harder. “You have a brilliant mind and you don’t need to prove that. Not to me, not to anyone, and especially not to yourself.”

It was so strange, to finally hear the words of well-deserved appreciation. He knew Batman was probably stealing his show but right now he didn’t have it in him to stop the man from talking.

“You would make a great detective, a better detective than me, I just want you to know that I respect that.”

And as that final line escaped Batman’s mouth, instead of pulling off the mask, Riddler pressed his lips to those of the Bat.

The whole room went “Ahh!” but Edward didn’t hear that as the rush of blood pounded in his ears.

He couldn’t believe he was kissing Batman, and – even more surprising – that Batman was starting to respond. Their lips were locked in a passionate kiss, not a deep one but surely a desperate and rushed one. It lasted only a few seconds but that short time was enough for Eddie to forget where they were and what he had been planning to do.

If he were not so dazed, perhaps he could have noticed the figure that appeared behind his back.

Something patted his arm.

Riddler turned around.

The last thing he saw that night was Selina Kyle’s fist.


	2. Stay alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy my collection of riddlebat drabbles. This one was requested by my friend WorstCase on tumblr.

„We have twenty-five minutes to get out of this cell, sneak into the laboratory and secure the virus, then hijack a helicopter and return to Gotham before the League starts their operation.”

Batman paused and pulled at his restraints, his wrists and ankles were firmly held by the hard and unforgiving metal. “We know that Ra’s did not give the order yet, we still have time so… Are you listening to me, Edward?”

The uncharacteristically silent figure leaning against the opposite wall didn’t give any sign of life. Batman, however, still had his cowl and the readings of his scanner were showing Riddler’s slow and steady heartbeat – perhaps too calm for the given situation?

“Your wound is not that serious. You’re gonna live – if we manage to escape, that is.”

“Easy for you to say,” the hiss that escaped the man was reminding Bruce of an angry Catwoman. “It’s not you who got the sword through the foot, you overrated, unreliable, martyr-wannabe!”

Bruce noticed the sudden change in the readings and assured himself that Edward was just fine. If he had a hand free, he’d switch the detective-mode off. He hadn’t.

“You know that you got that sword to your foot only because you don’t know when to keep your mouth shut, right?”

The Riddler didn’t care to reply, he turned his head away not to look in Batman’s direction, even more ostentatiously than before.

“But your injury actually plays into our hands,” Bruce continued, brushing off the obvious display of being theatrically ignored by the sulking man-child, “since the assassins have thought you would be unable to walk, they didn’t bother to cuff your legs or chain you to the wall. So, get over here and help me get my hands free.”

“Don’t boss me around, I’m not one of your sidekicks!”

“It’s for your own good,” Batman tried not to let out an irritated sigh. “We have twenty-five, no, twenty-four minutes before…”

“Don’t pretend to CARE for ‘my own good’, you cheater!”

The bitterness of those words struck him like a knife, Bruce was glad he didn’t have to look into Edward’s eyes at this moment but the readings of the Riddler’s unhealthily increased pulse rate told him more than he wanted to know.

“I’ve heard what you said to that sleazy al Ghul-girl. You wished I’d rather be dead from brain cancer than messing with her daddy’s precious Lazarus Pit!”

“Edward…”

“Don’t!” He cut Bruce off again, and this time it sounded more pitiful than angry. Bruce didn’t intend to listen.

“I’ve never wished for you, for anyone, to fall ill.”

“But you didn’t help! And you thought, I would just do nothing? Lay down and die? Because that’d save your beloved city from Ra’s’ wrath, now wouldn’t it?”

The ice-cold silence between the stone walls of their cell left Batman with a heavy heart. He knew he should say something, staying quiet like that meant admitting his guilt, and yet he had no words for Edward. No words except…

“I’m sorry…”

They stared at each other for far too long, Bruce seeing nothing but Riddler’s skeletal system – skeletal system and the heartbeat readings that were getting less rapid with every passing moment.

And just like in a slow-motion picture, Edward stood up, limped forward, got himself so very close to Bruce’s tied-up body.

“Are you?” He whispered, his hot breath tickled the skin on Batman’s jaw.

Bruce couldn’t help but lean toward that heat, his lips brushing over Edward’s cheek.

The man shuddered a bit but stayed there and let those dry lips travel over his freckled skin to finally meet his mouth.

Slowly, Bruce tasted him. There was a hint of salt and copper, and something more, something strangely familiar – like a long-forgotten longing that they both carried with them. He closed his eyes, kissing softly, allowing himself to dive deep into the feeling.

When they parted, tired and overwhelmed by so much affection, then it came – this awkward moment in which the logical part of the brain started to kick in.  
Before Edward could sober up and move away, Bruce wanted to tell him how glad he was – glad for Edward to be alive.

He didn’t.  
There were only twenty minutes left and Gotham needed to be saved – again.


	3. Rub the right way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy my collection of riddlebat drabbles. This one contains the descriptions of sexual activities - feel warned.  
Also, the dialogues in this were built entairly of re-phrased Riddler's original lines from 'The Arkham Knight'.

“Faster, Dark Knight, faster!” Riddler's shameless shouts rolled through the empty space of a murky basement, going straight to Batman's head like a glass of strong liqueur. “Fast like Hermes or, oh, Mercury – that cheap, Roman knockoff of a Greek God! Oh, God!”

As ridiculous as Riddler's poor choice of words could be, it still made Batman smirk and increase his pacing. Edward gasped, squirming beneath him, muscles trembling out of intensity of this treatment.

"Ah! Very good, Dark Knight. Again!” he demanded, voice heavy with excitement.

He didn't have to ask twice, Batman knew what was coming – he could sense the tell-tale throbbing as he pumped them both with his steady hand.

Eyes squeezed, mouth agape – Riddler was quite a view – spread on the floor, on his own, green shirt, with his tank-top so soaked with sweat that it was probably dripping.

“I'm close, detective. Don't fumble now!”

Batman hardened his grip and gazed down upon the pleasure-dazed rogue trapped between his thighs. Riddler arched his back, exposing his slim neck – and with all the small scratches and bruises this neck looked so damn, snappable. Batman reached for it with his left hand, acting on an impulse. His fingers tightened around it, causing the skin to go pale.

Edward's eyes were suddenly wide open, a shadow of fear flickered on his flushed face.

Batman pressed harder, squeezing Riddler's throat. In response, Riddler grabbed at the cowl and for a dreadful moment Bruce was sure that the man would try to unmask him. He was wrong. Edward, air-deprived and dizzy, only clutched desperately onto one of the bat-ears. Batman saw his lips soundlessly moving but with his air cut off, Riddler was forced to stay quiet for once.

A few more seconds and the Bat let go, allowing the other to take a deep breath.

Riddler sucked in a life-saving gulp of air, his neck was now tainted with the fingernail marks and his eyes were watering.

“Look what you have reduced me to, Batman!” He panted, his gaze still unfocused but his erection hard.

Bruce didn't intend to listen to complaints or to wait for the man to cool down, not when he himself was in need of attention and in his hand, there were two important things to take care of.

He grabbed Edward's jaw and kissed him with force, pressing him harder to the ground. Riddler moaned helplessly into his mouth and allowed the Bat to deepen the kiss. Soon, their tongues found themselves tangled together, swirling and twirling in the erratic dance of passion. And then, Bruce broke the kiss, instead pressed his lips to the side of Riddler's neck, licking and sucking on the fresh choking marks.

He never stopped moving his hand, working on them both in a rapid manner. Riddler was on the verge, moaning and clutching onto Batman's cape. One more stroke, and...

“Ah!!!”

...that was it. Bruce felt how the body under him shook in a long spasm of uncontrolled pleasure, and how his palm got dirty with a hot, sticky substance.

He lifted himself on both elbows, to take a better look at the other man.

With his arms spread and gasping for air, Riddler looked exhaust to say the least.

“Did you enjoy the ride, Mr. Nigma, sir?”

“Ha! I could have done it twice as quickly."

Batman huffed at him with a mix of irritation and honest amusement. “Perhaps we will see about that some other time then?”

A little smirk graced Edward's tired face. “No challenge is too great for me.” 

Their eyes met for a second but Riddler almost immediately looked away as if he was ashamed of something. “I have to admit,” he finally added, “you are earning my respect, detective. Next time I'll let you help me find my socks afterward, if you keep this up, that is.”

Batman ignored the obvious indication. He got to his knees, looming over Edward, staring him down and at the same time stroking himself slowly. His erection was still painfully hard since he didn't get his release.

“Do you need help, Dark Knight?” 

“Enough talking.” 

Batman reached down for the Riddler, lifting his chin just enough for the rogue to get the idea. “There's something I want you to do. Open up.”

After a moment of hesitation, Edward obeyed.


	4. Paint it green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't know what hit him, all he had registered was the sound of smashing glass and sudden pain in his back, then he lost his balance.

No thugs were guarding the entrance, no bots or obvious traps were to be spotted either and yet, the acid-green, luminescent question-mark painted over the backdoor of the old printing house was leaving Batman no doubts. The Riddler was inside.

Batman sighed, leaving clues like that, that was really sloppy – even for Edward and his untreated obsessive-compulsive. 

Landing on the roof and scanning for life signs he wondered when this madness would end. Was Riddler going to give up on deathtraps and hostages if Batman let him have his victory just this once? 

_No_, Bruce banished this ridiculous thought. _That would only mean sacrificing the safety of innocent people to make one egomaniac with an inferiority complex feel better about himself._ Batman could never have that.

He had The Riddler in his sights. He aimed with his batarang and...

-#-

He didn't know what hit him, all he had registered was the sound of smashing glass and sudden pain in his back, then he lost his balance. The next thing he knew he was falling, his ladder and a bucket with him, right into the welcoming embrace of a hard and unforgiving floor.

The paint was everywhere – in his hair, in his eyes, and all over his clothes. For a moment he could see nothing but green, and that only added to the dread of incoming footsteps.

“Get up!”

He knew that growling voice all too well and, dear God, he hated its owner with passion.

“Is that cowl of yours pressing too hard on your tiny bat-brain? I could have broken my spine, you moron!!!”

-#-

Muttering curses while trying to get the green paint out of his eyes and at the same time to collect himself from the floor, Riddler looked nothing like a real threat, more like a homeless junky creeping out of his trash bin.

Batman didn't have time for this.

“I said, get up!” He took a good grip on Riddler's paint-stained hair and hauled his skinny frame up, ignoring the pitiful yelp.

Edward flailed around in mindless panic until he was back on his feet. Then, he collapsed again – or he would, if not for Bruce catching his arm in time.

“You broke my leg, you brainless brute!” The man hissed at him, dripping paint and pure hatred.

Judging by the lack of grace Nigma had hit the floor with, it was fairly possible. Batman blinked his vision back to the x-ray mode to check.

“It's not broken,” he informed his captive, “at least not yet,” he added as a fair warning. “But don't worry, I'm sure they are gonna patch you up in Arkham. You'll be as good as new.”

“No. No no no, I can't go! I'm not ready!” Riddler protested, limping and wincing while being dragged toward the exit. Bruce considered lifting him up and carrying him to the batmobile to simply make this whole process quicker but one glance at the man's paint-soaked clothes and he gave up on this idea. Alfred would have too much additional work cleaning the bat-suit after that.

Edward didn't even struggle that much, instead he was angrily monologuing about how Batman had come too early, however, all these years of solving crazy riddles had taught Bruce how to mentally mute Riddler's pointless chatter.

He kicked the front door open and the two of them left 'Ink Complete'.

_Why is it so easy?_ Crossed Bruce's mind. _Did Nigma want me to find him? Is this some kind of plan? Or is he not able to think straight anymore?_

_You've broken him_, some distant voice whispered into his ear and Bruce almost shivered. _It's all your fault, Bruce._

The Batmobile's trunk opened with a soft hiss of hydraulics. Edward struggled weakly but Batman didn't lose his grip, not even for a second. He glanced at the rogue again, and the sight didn't satisfy him. The paint hadn’t dried yet.

Bruce sighed internally, that wouldn't do at all.

“Take off your clothes.”

“W-what?” Nigma's face-expression was one of a kind when he perked up his head to stare at Batman with wide eyes and pure disbelieve.

“Do you think I want green stains inside my car?”

“Then you shouldn't have knocked me off of a ladder while I was painting! You hurt me, you humiliated me and now you want me to undress in front of you so you can make fun of me?! That is a violation of my basic rights!”

“I will violate your face with my fist if you don't stop shouting!”

“You're a god-damn bully,” Riddler barked back, struggling frenetically in Batman's firm grip. “I bet it's so much fun for you to have all that power!”

“Believe me or not, it isn't.”

He let go of Edward's hand without any warning, it resulted with Riddler falling back on his skinny ass with a loud “Oof!”.

“Your shirt,” Bruce loomed over him, sounding as dangerous as ever.

It worked. Nigma went quiet and lowered his gaze, slowly and with a visible effort he began removing his green shirt, button by button, until it fell to the pavement beside him.

“Now, your shoes,” Bruce ordered and Edward obeyed.

“Your trousers.”

This time Riddler shook his head.

“I said, trousers,” he demanded with a growl that made Edward finally raise his eyes from the floor.

It struck Bruce, this face – there was no fear or hate. Embarrassment? Sure, but also something far more complicated. Edward's cheeks were flushed, his forehead all sweaty, he could see that even beneath the green paint. And Riddler's eyes, they were asking some unsaid question.

_You shouldn't have started this_, the voice echoed in Bruce's head again. _Now, reap what you sow._

He knelt down, his hand reached out to unbuckle the belt but Edward stopped him at the last moment.

“Don't...” the man uttered, his voice small and shaky. “I'll do it...myself.” He licked his lips nervously and Batman almost smirked. He could swear he heard the rogue's heart beating fast and loud through the ribcage and white undershirt.

There was a metallic sound as Edward manipulated around the belt buckle without even looking at it. His blue, lively eyes never left Bruce's, still silently asking him something.

“You have paint on your face too,” Bruce mentioned, not really knowing why.

“You don't say,” Nigma retorted as if the two of them had never been mortal enemies.

Without breaking the eye contact, Batman reached to his utility belt, searching through one of many pockets. As he fished out a fresh piece of medical gauze, he showed it to Riddler first, then brought it closer to his dirty face.

Edward flinched at the touch but didn't say a word. The soft material rubbed against his cheek as Bruce tried to clean him up with a gentleness, he didn't expect himself to show, not toward The Riddler at least. And Riddler apparently didn't expect that kind of treatment either since he was at a loss for words for much longer than Batman would ever give him credit for.

Bruce moved the gauze up Edward's nose, making him squeeze his right eye involuntarily. 

“I could do it myself, you know.”

“You could...” Bruce agreed, although he didn't stop.

The green was coming off, revealing more and more of red blush on Riddler's face. Through his armored gloves, Batman didn't feel how hot the man's skin was right now, he could only imagine.

As he got to the forehead and brushed away a few dirty strands of hair, Edward actually shivered. 

Bruce observed his reactions for quite some time and he could tell, Riddler was clearly enjoying the attention. And at the same time, the man looked so tense, as if enjoying it was a crime.

_Perhaps it is_, Bruce told himself, _but not only his, it's my crime as well._

_A crime worth a kiss_, sang the other voice – the one that was not Bruce's own but had haunted him since Joker's death. 

And before Bruce could think it through, his body leaned in for a real kiss, his hands cupping Edward's blushing face. Edward gasped in surprise and tried to pull back. Bruce didn't let him. He pressed their lips together almost forcefully. His demanding lips moved along Riddler's dry and narrow ones, slowly teaching the man how to cooperate.

Edward smelled like paint, he even tasted like it but his mouth was so hot and so damn addictive that Bruce had to slow down not to get too far with...whatever it was they were about to do.

Their lips barely moved now, gently touching and parting. Hot, heavy breaths passed from mouth to mouth. Bruce's thumbs were still resting on both Edward's cheekbones, massaging them lightly. Meanwhile, Riddler's paint-stained hands found themselves on Batman's broad, armored torso. Quick, lively fingers traveled between the kevlar plates, curiously checking every curve and seam. They rushed frenetically over the black, smooth surface as if it was the only chance they got to do so.

Then, Bruce broke the kiss and pulled back.

“That's enough,” he decided.

Riddler's face was red, his breath short, eyes slightly feverish. He shook his head in visible frustration.

Batman caressed Edward's cheek one last time with his thumb, then he got up and walked away to the Batmobile.

-#-

His brilliant mind seemed so foggy that he couldn't comprehend what had just happened and, more importantly, why. Why would the Bat be so gentle with him? Why would he kiss him? Why would he stop?

His heart was still racing in what felt like panic but the sensation was far too pleasant for a panic attack. His body went stiff and hot and... _Oh, no! No no no_, his brain screamed at him finally realizing the obvious signs of excitement. _Did Batman notice? Of course he did, you moron, he's a detective! Quickly, he's coming back! Distract him, say something!_

“What does not make a man, but men make it as they can?”

Batman stood there, staring him down, large plastic cover in his hand.

“Fresh clothes,” the Dark Knight offered, casually answering the riddle or maybe simply explaining what he had brought from the car. “Put them on and get in.”

Edward wanted to argue that he didn't need Batman's charity but on second thought, showing at the GCPD in only his underwear was one humiliation his pride could do without.

He unzipped the bag, checking the business suit inside – it was cotton and silk, expensive and nice to the touch.

“It's not green.”

Batman didn't care to reply, his face was, as always, stoic but his green eyes seemed to be smiling behind the mask.

_Wait? Since when did the Bat have green eyes?_ Riddler thought and blinked. _His eyes should be blue, like mine._

When he looked a second time, the eyes were back to normal – cold greyish-blue, just as Edward remembered them to be.

_Must have been that damn paint in my eye_, he told himself and started to get changed.

“Tell me something, Edward,” Batman's sudden request caught Riddler off-guard, usually it was him, who asked all the questions. “Why is it always green for you?”

Pulling on the black, silky pants Edward pondered over the answer.

How was he going to describe that feeling – the feeling of being suffocated by all that mess around him? How was he supposed to explain that overwhelming need to set right all that wrongness? Green was the only color that held the meaning of something being correct! Sometimes it was enough to simply look at that soothing shade to start feeling better, but some other times one just had to paint the world green until everyone knew you had been right all along and they were utterly stupid.

“You won't understand,” he kept fumbling with the tie, avoiding the answer as well as looking at its blasted color of error - it was red and it bothered him, his fingers trembled slightly.

Batman noticed, he moved closer and helped him to tie it. “You look good in this color,” he referred to the fancy, black suit which was at least two sizes too big for Edward to pass as his own.

It probably wasn't logical and yet, something about this comment made Edward smile. He gazed at Batman's armor, where his hands left green, luminescent smudges.

“And you'd look good in green, Dark Knight.”


	5. Quid pro quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Batman comes to Arkham, he has something important to do in here.   
This drabble was requested by esteicy-blog from tumblr. Enjoy!

All eyes were on him as he strode down the main corridor of the specialized confinement wing, passing yet another occupied cell and being judged by yet another vengeful glare. It was not often that Batman visited Arkham Asylum. He was aware that anything could happen in here and knowing that made him prepare for the worst.

Entering the individual therapy room no.5, he noticed two security cameras, no sound-recording devices were to be seen. Good. He set the paper bag he had been carrying around down on the empty table and then, he positioned himself in the back of the room – facing the entrance. He waited for the footsteps of two officers and an inmate to draw near, just as he had arranged.

The door clicked open as Officer Lesley's pass was inserted in the electronic lock. The guard walked into the room, fully armed. Three steps behind him stood the man who was the only reason for Batman to come here tonight.

Stripped of his trade-mark green outfit, and partially of his dignity, Nygma looked like an ordinary man but the overconfident, riddlerish smirk was right there – shamelessly plastered to Edward's smug face.

“Hello, Detective!” Riddler's tone of voice rang with pure satisfaction; and when Officer Boles pushed him further into the therapy room, it didn't even affect the man's sense of complacency much. “I hoped, you'd come sooner.”

“Solving cases takes time,” Batman stated flatly, still leaning against the wall, motionless like an obsidian statue. He watched Nygma taking a seat at the table, noting how the limp from the latest leg-injury was still visible in the way he walked. He didn't fail to notice the fairly fresh black-eye either. Being one of the most compulsive inmates in this institution, Riddler could never keep his mouth shut, and that probably made him not very loved by Arkham’s stressed-out security guards. “But I tend to keep my word,” he added as Nygma placed his cuffed hands on the table with a loud 'clank'. It briefly crossed Batman’s mind to check the surveillance footage for what exactly had occurred.

“I wouldn't expect anything less from the great hero of Gotham City. Now, did you bring what I asked of you?”

Bruce nodded dismissively toward Lesley and Boles, the two guards exchanged surprised looks but didn't move from their spots at the door.

“You can wait outside.” He didn't want witnesses, he had the feeling that this visit would quickly become awkward enough. “I won't hurt the inmate.”

“As if we cared, if you did,” Boles scoffed and the two of them left the therapy room.

As soon as the door closed behind the guards, Riddler shot Batman a wide, wild smile. “Setting the mood, hmm?” He beamed. “That's a promising start, I must admit.”

Bruce sighed inwardly. “Let's get it over with, I don't have the whole evening.” He crossed his muscular arms, trying not to show too much annoyance.

“Ah ah a-ah!” If not for the cuffs, Nygma would have most likely wagged a finger on him. “I want to enjoy it. So?” He paused, staring at Bruce intensely. “Are you gonna show me what you brought, or what?”

Leaving his spot against the wall, Bruce walked over to the table and pushed the paper bag toward the inmate, revealing the logo “Tonny's” printed on it.

“Here. Just as you wanted.”

Riddler eyed the bag suspiciously as if he expected The Joker to pop out of it. “Did you remember about the double cheese?”

“Yes, one spaghetti ala carbonara with double cheese and no garlic and one gnocchi ala sorrentina with fresh basil leaves on top,” he huffed. “Now shut up and eat your food before it gets cold.”

“Take it out for me, will you?” Nygma requested, showing his cuffed wrists to the Bat. The warning glare that Bruce offered him in return was a very clear 'don't push it'-kind of message and Riddler was able to understand that much. “Fine,” the man sighed dramatically, clearly unhappy about Batman's disobedience, he fished the two boxes with his Italian food out of the bag and opened the first one. The aroma of bacon, Parmesan and parsley filled the small room.

Batman observed as Riddler reached for a plastic fork, plastic knives weren't in there – Bruce wouldn't dare bring such items into Arkham. The man played with the plastic tool in his hand for a while and Bruce mused on how hard it would be to eat those noodles with the hands cuffed together and without a spoon. Well, that was not his problem.

“Enjoy your meal,” he offered with no real care in his voice.

“Where do you think you're going?” Riddler's question stopped him before he could walk away and out of the room.

“I told you before, I have cases to work on.”

“And I told you, I want to ‘enjoy’ this evening!”

“I got you what you wanted.”

“No!” Riddler slammed his hands on a table, making the boxes with his food to jump up. “What I wanted was a dinner with you – not you delivering the food and walking out on me like that!” With that, Nygma pushed the second box across the table, toward the empty seat, as if offering it to Batman.

Bruce stared at the box, not without some mixed feelings. “I'm not hungry,” he declined, his voice a little too harsh to be found polite. He didn't mean to offend or enrage the Riddler, not when the man had proven to be cooperative for once, but Batman having dinner at Arkham with one of the so-called costumed villains did not sound like a good idea.

There was the sound of a chair scraping against the wooden floor as Edward abruptly pulled himself up. The white, plastic fork was still in his hand, squeezed so tightly that it got deformed.

“Listen now, you bat-brain!” Nygma looked like he was going to throw a childish tantrum. “I didn't risk my enviable reputation by giving you the information on Waller and her silly Suicide Squad just in sheer spite for this unspeakable woman! I helped you and you promised to do something for me in return! So now, you are going to sit your pretty, perfectly hemispheric butt down and have a nice dinner with me! And we're both gonna have a good time! Is that clear?!”

One thing was clear to Bruce for sure. “So you've been checking out my butt, hm?”

Edward fell silent but the pink color on his otherwise pale face did the talking for him.

Bruce couldn't help it, the corners of his lips twitched uncontrollably and moved upward against his will, and against Batman's cold and stoic demeanor. The way the obvious truth tended to slip through the cracks every time Riddler was losing his nerves – it had always amused him. He didn't want to admit it but he found it somewhat endearing.

“I uhh... That's not what I...,” Edward was desperately trying to logically explain his choice of words, it took him a moment before he dared to look Batman in the eyes again. “Wait a second...” The man suddenly faltered, staring at Bruce in a disbelieve. “Have I entered an alternate universe or did you really just crack a smile for me?”

Bruce had to fight back another smile before he was able to collect himself.

“Consider it...the alternate reality, in which we're working together and, on rare occasions, our teamwork can even be halfway bearable.” He took a seat at the table and reached for the box of gnocchi that Nygma had picked for him. “Buon appetito.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I take prompts, feel free to hit me with your ideas!


	6. Off the hook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy my collection of riddlebat drabbles. This one was requested by esteicy-blog from tumblr and it is rather kinky - feel warned!

He had been too confident this time, his silent infiltration not silent enough to catch all opponents off-guard. The unnecessary brawl with the thugs at the entrance of the slaughterhouse had resulted in alerting his target. The criminal had fled before Batman could even enter the main facility.

But the target hadn't been there alone, Bruce had gotten readings of a second life-signal on his detective-mode screen, so it wasn't much of a surprise to find the other person still in the room. What was surprising, however, was the identity of that person.

“Need a hand?”

Riddler definitely does.

With his hands tied, arms above his head, and with his body hanging on a rope from a meat hook – Nigma could be taken for a victim of some act of violence, if not for the small fact that his pants are wrapped around his ankles and beneath the thin fabric of his purple boxers, there is quite the obvious evidence of Riddler's enjoyment.

Bruce didn't mean to stare but the whole picture is so peculiar that he simply can’t help it. Not without a fair share of amusement, he watches Edward's pathetic attempt to hide his arousal.

Face lobster-red with both embarrassment and frustration, Riddler is trying to utter an excuse, or perhaps to offer some explanation for the compromising position he has gotten himself into, but of course, there is a makeshift gag preventing him from speaking. Bruce is actually quite thankful for that – he really doesn't need to hear the details.

Instead of asking needless questions, he scans the room for more clues. He finds a few pieces of clothing left behind in a hurry, more rope, a bottle of lube, and a vintage instant camera.

“Looks like you two were busy. Too bad I interrupted,” he mocks, not missing the chance to poke at Riddler's ego, while at the same time musing, how the tent in his pants never flattened. “Hook-ups with Gotham’s criminals are not what one should be doing on parole. But don't worry, I'm not here for you, Nigma. I'm looking for your...partner in crime. Perhaps you could help me? And I will help you in return.”

Riddler's face couldn't possibly get any redder, but Bruce isn't looking at his face, his eyes are focused on Edward's lower parts. He notices a little twitch inside that underwear. Whatever it was – the voice, the suggestive offer, or the situation itself – it seems to work on Riddler just like an aphrodisiac.

Bruce smirks to himself and circles his victim, casually touching Edward's exposed torso to make him feel agitated. He watches how Nigma's body flinches at the lightest touch as if Batman's armored gloves are a white-hot iron. He observes a small drop of sweat rolling down Edward's back even if the temperature in the hall is rather low. Finally, he sees the fresh bite-mark on the side of the man's neck – a detail that makes Bruce wonder how rough Riddler likes his lovers to be.

“You will tell me what you know, and I might not call in the GCPD to find you like that.”

There is a weak sound coming from behind the gag, so Bruce pulls out the rag of Riddler's mouth, finally letting him speak.

“I didn't do anything that is considered illegal!” The man spits out, tugging at his restraints.

Batman interrupts him right there, grabbing his chin roughly, forcing him to shut up and listen.

“You expect me to believe you are an innocent man, Nigma?!” He growls in his Batman-voice, causing the man to shudder involuntarily. “Look at yourself! You're everything but innocent. Do you really want to go back to Arkham, unsatisfied and humiliated? Or do you want me to cut you loose and get you off the hook?”

Edward refuses to look at him. “I want you to finish me off,” he breathes out, his voice actually trembling.

Something about the boldness of the sentence triggers Bruce in a way he didn't expect it would. There were no games for once, no riddles, no tricks, just an honest confession of Riddler's deepest desires.

The urge to kiss this ridiculous man comes suddenly and with such force that even a hard man like Batman is left with no other choice but to comply. He claims Riddler's lips, almost bumping their foreheads together.

Edward gasps into the kiss, his whole body jerking, his lips quickly responding to the new sensation. Another gasp escapes him as he feels Batman's hand roughly grabbing his pulsating cock.

“Is this what you want?” Bruce hisses through his teeth, angry at Riddler for being so helpless. Or perhaps he is angry at himself for allowing Riddler to have it his way?

He tightens his grip, trying to stroke him but the fabric of Edward's boxers is preventing him to do an effective job. Before he can re-think it, he slides his gloved hand into Riddler's pants, taking his swollen member into his grasp.

The man before him seems like putty in his capable, steady hands, squirming and biting his upper lip to conceal the sounds of pleasure. Bruce is almost sure that if he had asked Riddler to give up on crime for good, the rogue would have agreed without hesitation.

“Is this what you hoped for?” He rephrases his previous question, this time more teasingly than before.

“Yess...” Edward confirms, eyes squeezed shut in delight. “I'd do that myself...but my hands are tied...”

Batman cringes at the forced double-meaning but at least it wasn't a riddle.

“If you're so self-sufficient...” With that, Bruce's hand stops, not letting go of the penis just yet but reducing the pleasure to a minimum. This action causes Riddler to emit a frustrated growl. Batman only smirks, his other hand shoots up to pull Nigma's hair, forcing his head back while his back arches. “Why coming here in the first place? You could do better than that, Edward.”

“I could do you.”

“You wish.” Bruce's hand is still unmoving and at this point, Riddler basically wriggles with eagerness.

Not even a second has passed as the man begins to thrust into Batman's hand, hips moving back and forth, gradually increasing his tempo. Bruce is amused by how determined the other is, and he would have lied if he said that it wasn't a bit exciting.

He leans in to taste Edward's sweat, licking his neck with a quick movement.

Riddler gasps again. A wet stain on Batman's glove signalizes that precum was released and so the peak is coming. And that is surprisingly fast for a man like Riddler who likes making things unnecessarily difficult.

Letting go of the man's hair and grabbing his testicles, Bruce is willing to push him over the edge.

It does the job. Edward's loud breathing transforms into a full-out moaning, his face is torn by the expression of extreme pleasure, his muscles tense and start trembling. He unleashes his load into Batman's hand – it takes a few seconds until it is over. A moment after, his body goes limp, hanging from the hook like a piece of meat.

Batman removes his hand and wipes it off at the edge of his cape. He lets Riddler rest for a moment before he cuts the rope that has held his arms in place all that time.

Edward's legs give out under his own weight and he is about to tumble to the ground but Bruce's strong arms are there to catch him. Gently, he lowers them both, allowing Riddler's body to lean on his own as they sit down.

“So?” As awkward as it is, Bruce has to say something. “How was it?”

Nigma laughs shortly, his breathing still uneven. “I thought the first thing you’d ask me, would be about that idiot who left me hanging.”

With his head resting on Batman's shoulder, Riddler probably couldn't see it but Bruce genuinely smiles at that. “Well, I was going to ask that next.”


	7. Crimeless crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes there is no body but there was a crime...  
I got inspired by the scene from "Long Halloween" - enjoy!

"What time is it, when a bat flies through your window?"

The question is aimed at no one in particular, shot at the darkness of the spacious lobby of his modern penthouse – but then, the darkness shifts and answers with a brooding voice: "It's time to confess." It sounds like the night itself has taken a human-like form and came to haunt him.

Riddler smiles faintly, playing with the glass in his hand with a nonchalant motion. Ice-cubes make a little 'ting' as they collide with one another. "Confess? Too bad, I'm not a very religious man." He doesn’t look at his late-night 'guest', he doesn't have to – he has this one-of-a-kind image of the man dressed as a bat burned into his brain like a stigma. "The correct answer is..."

"I don't care about your riddles!" Batman growls at him and Edward puts up a little frown.

"Well, that's rude..." Spread over the massive, green couch – legs outstretched under a coffee table – Riddler is less offended than he probably should be. That might be thanks to the whiskey in his system, or thanks to the fact that Batman didn't punch him yet.

"Don't worry," the low, menacing voice is now much closer to the spot where Edward is relaxing, which is strange since there was no sound of footsteps to be heard. How does a 6ft tall, muscular man even manage to move so swiftly? "...you will have your chance to give me all the answers. And it is up to you, which way this conversation goes.”

It's a warning which Edward chooses to ignore. 

He reaches to loosen his tie, just to find out that it isn't there. He must have removed it hours ago when he has opened the bottle. “By all means, ask away.” He takes a slow sip, enjoying the tingling sensation of the alcohol on his tongue.

Batman is staring him down, he can tell. The weight of his heavy, unforgiving glare falls onto Edward's shoulders, the pressure is almost tangible.

“How long have you been on parole, Nygma? Not even two months,” the cold, judgmental voice states. “And as a part of your resocialization program, you are working at the production line at Feelgood Inc., correct?”

“You are well informed, Detective,” Edward admits and tilts back his head to catch a glimpse of Batman's masked, unreadable face.

“With a $22 per hour, it is very unlikely you could afford a big, fancy apartment on the top floor of Diamond Tower. But here you are...”

“I had my savings,” he shrugs, brushing off the obvious accusation with no real effort. “Next question?”

“You have an O'Keeffe hanging in your bedroom. The original was mysteriously stolen from the Art Institute of Chicago."

This one made Riddler snort. "I don't remember inviting you into my bedroom. If you wanted to see it, you could have just asked..." Seeing that the comment has no effect on Batman's ever-stern expression, Edward rolls his eyes. "It's a reproduction. Happy?"

"Never." There is a heavy hand pressed right next to Riddler's head. "I know it was you, Nygma...”

A ticklish sensation on his upper back makes Riddler realize that he is all sweaty. It might be the whiskey or this hot, stormy weather – making the air too thick and humid to breathe freely. “That...is not a question.”

“We both know that Clayface is too reckless, too simpleminded to come with such plan on his own, and Two-Face? Financial crimes are not exactly his style.” Batman's tone is sharp, designed to intimidate but it doesn't work on Riddler as long as the actual violence is not there. “It's obvious they had some help. Same as Blackmask and Clock King. What are you playing at, Nygma?” The Bat almost growls. “A consulting criminal? You're selling yourself out like a common whore!”

It probably shouldn't, but somehow it stings – much like a splinter that gets under your nail. Edward bites his lips, feeling the sudden rush of blood and a wave of fury. “Is that how you see me?” His words are sipping slowly through his gritted teeth.

“It's how you make yourself look.”

Batman looms over him from behind and Edward yet again feels unfairly judged. He lowers his eyes and looks down into his glass, ice cubes have halfway melted at this point. A drop of water slides down the glass like a lonely teardrop.

He needs another sip. He doesn't get the chance.

It takes him by surprise when the Dark Knight leans down, with one arm still holding onto a couch and the other catching Riddler's own, preventing him from drinking. “I know you, Edward,” comes the hated voice, far too close to his left ear for Riddler's own sake. “I know you better than you know yourself. You think it is a perfect solution – a crime without a crime. But you and I know, it won't work for you. You can't simply let those morons use your brilliant ideas when it is you, only you, who deserve the appreciation for all the clever heists.”

Edward gulps, fighting back the sudden, embarrassing urge to admit to everything Batman wants him to. “I...” He shifts nervously, wriggling on a couch but there is nowhere to hide from these prying eyes. That damn, nosy detective is still holding his wrist, trapping his hand in an iron grip. “I think you should leave now... It is very late.”

“It is.” The Bat nods toward the small coffee table. “But you are clearly expecting someone.”

There is an empty glass placed on a tray, right next to the unfinished bottle of Scotch whiskey.

“It's almost 2 am and you're wearing a shirt – not a very casual outfit, if you ask me. The bottle is half-empty, and you are already tipsy. You were waiting for someone,” the man makes his assumption and Edward can only listen, his hand shaking slightly within Batman's grasp. “The main light is off, which means, you didn't want to be seen with that 'someone'. But they never showed up, did they?” There's a pause and Riddler waits for the blow to come. “Who was it, Nygma? One of your 'clients'?” The voice turns harsh and downright accusing. “Who were you waiting for? Penguin? Scarecrow? Tell me!”

What gives this man the right to treat Edward like that? To act like he was better than everyone else?

“It was you,” Edward hisses and yanks his arm out of Batman's grip, spilling the liquid all over his shirt in the process. He growls in frustration and springs up from the couch, standing face to face with the god-damn Bat-freak. “I was waiting for you, you idiot!”

“Why?” The bat narrows his eyes and it's a nasty kind of a look.

“Because I know you as much as you know me! You can't stand the thought of me, or any other rogue, being out of Arkham! Being free and happy!” He waves his hand with a furious gesture, the empty glass still in his hold. All the ice cubes fall out, rolling on the carpet. Batman is not even surprised, that cold-hearted bastard!

“You want me to be guilty,” Edward shouts at him. “...you need me to be because that would justify all the things you did to me in the past! Even now, I can see what you really want to do! You have enough of talking, you just want to punch me, throw me onto a table, grab me by the neck and squeeze it! You can't wait to hurt me because you think I deserve it.” 

With one swift kick, Riddler flips a coffee table, sending a tray, a glass, and a whiskey bottle flying. “Go on! Do it! Hit me like you always do!” His voice it comically high-pitched and dramatic as he jabs Batman's wide, muscular chest with the empty glass. “You're just like my father! When you're done with your favorite violence, why don't you also screw me like a common whore you think I am!”

This time, a strong hand lands on his shoulder, making his whole body to instantly freeze.

“I'm sorry, Edward,” Batman's voice is strangely calm, it doesn't show any particular emotion. “I shouldn't have compared you to a whore. Prostitutes do what they do for money, but you, you do crimes because you have to – you can't help yourself.”

“I'm not crazy!”

“Of course, you're not,” the sarcasm is almost hurtful. “And your riddles are just for fun. Why aren't you on medication?”

“What makes you think I'm not?”

Batman's gaze wanders from the glass in his hand, to the mess on the floor. “You wouldn't be so stupid to mix your meds with whiskey.”

A pang of shame strikes him unexpectedly. “I suppose, I wouldn't... Not that you really care.”

There is no confirmation, no denial either. The hand on his shoulder squeezes a little harder but not strong enough to be painful.

“Just let me be, Batman,” Riddler goes a tone lower. “Unless you have some other interrogation methods you want to try with me, I advise you should be going.”

Strangely enough, the hand is still there – resting on his left shoulder. Edward perks his head up, shooting the tall man a daring glare. And for the first time tonight, he is scared – because the Bat locks their eyes together and leans down to him. Riddler freezes again, and for a terrifying moment, he is certain that Batman is going to kiss him. The worst thing about it, is that he knows, deep down in his guts he wants this to happen. But Batman only whispers into his ear: “I have my eye on you, Nygma.”

He is gone within less than a few seconds, leaving Edward alone with his boggling thoughts.

What gives this man the right to stand above the law when a true genius like himself is bound to play by the rules made by lesser minds?

Riddler stands in the darkness, motionless for a while. Then, he walks toward the bookshelf, finding a little device securely hidden between the books. A micro-camera is light like a feather in his hand as he switches it off. Unfortunately, no interesting footage got registered from the encounter with the Bat – no violence, no harassment – nothing really good to blackmail the so-called detective with. Can it be that the Dark Knight has predicted such a move?

Quite disappointed, Edward sighs and puts his empty glass on a shelf. At least, he managed not to give the Bat any clues – which is good, since the meddling rodent were surely recording their conversation as well. Passing by the mess left on the carpet, he's heading for the still open balcony door. He looks through the glass at the night sky of Gotham.

“What time is it, when a bat flies through your window?” The riddle is aimed at no one and he feels compelled to answer it himself. “It's time to start sleeping with your windows closed.”

If leaving no riddles is still not enough, next time, he will make sure no flying pest slips through the cracks of his brilliant plan.


End file.
